Portraiture
by Whisper Gypsy
Summary: Hermione has set herself on studying the art of Moving Portraits during her final Hogwarts year; but what will happen when she finds herself falling for one of the occupants of an enchanted portrait? And will there ever be any chance for their love?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: 'Ello, lovelies! So, in a flurry of plot bunny attacks, I have posted this short first chapter. Also, I have a new poll up on my profile-please go and check it out!

Disclaimer: Mine! IT'S MINE! My precious…. MINE!

* * *

Wizarding portraits could be counted on to make a very absorbing and rewarding study in an otherwise dull summer. Hermione idly traced her finger over the faded and curling edge of a textbook which could rival Headmaster Dumbledore for Oldest Artifact at Hogwarts, though she was certain that bets were fair to middling that the book was the far more useful Artifact, and therefore merited greater respect. Not that Headmaster Dumbledore wasn't owed a certain amount of respect, it was more along the level of granting a toothless lion all the meat he wanted to gnaw for fear of his claws, than that of the highly influential messenger pigeon.

But apparently a lion was a more sociable creature, and therefore could hobnob with the Governors of the school and officials from the Ministry as a treatise-broker in ways a text—no matter its contents or importance—could physically manage. Even Hermione Granger—bookworm and know-it-all swot of the first water—had to concede that point. If with some heavy hesitation and poor grace, the point remained an honest one, and Hermione was never someone who felt inclined to her bite off her nose to spite her face.

But, it merited saying that given five seconds to choose between the two Artifacts to save during an attack or fire or other matter of imminent destruction, the book was her first choice in every scenario—even when the Headmaster was rendered unconscious. The text in question was _The Magic Behind the Muses_. It covered other just as interesting topics, ranging from the possessing qualities of pipe music, down to the seduction of dance as an embodiment of potions study. The most recent section Hermione had been focusing her great intellect and undivided attention onto was Chapter Seven: _Charmed Caricatures, Potioned Paintings, and Spelled Sketchings_.

One of the very first things which entranced Hermione upon her arrival at Hogwarts all those years ago—aside from the Enchanted Ceiling, and her devoted reading of _Hogwarts, A History_ fed her desire to learn about that particular dandy—were the hundreds upon thousands of moving portraits and tapestries which covered every corridor, spare hallway, classroom, broom cupboard, dorm room, common room, library, and even a few of the bathrooms—and these had resulted in several heavy curtain purchases among the female student body—in the castle. The wizards, witches, warlocks, knights, ladies, and animals captured forever in a moment of youth, old age, or doddering dementia could move and talk, judge and chat with any available listener. Especially when you weren't in a listening mood.

The Head Girl smiled idly off into a corner, mind buzzing along and processing calculations faster than Viktor Krum could pull out of a Wonky Faint. Hermione shook her head fondly, imagining her boys' reaction to her mind's little mispronunciation—complete and utter horror, followed by a quick correction and serious consideration of check-up in the Lockhart Ward of St. Mungo's.

"And just where would you be off to?" a stern voice intruded upon her thoughts.

* * *

E/N: Reviews? Yes, please!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: My hearty thanks to everyone who reviewed and favorited, followed, or otherwise enjoyed the Prologue!

Disclaimer: Yes, this is my disclaimer, yes this is my fic, no these aren't my characters. The voice you're reading this in isn't mine either. So sorry.

* * *

Hermione turned sharply, brown eyes searching around the room for her accoster. Finding none, her brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled in confusion. "I'm behind you, and up a ways, darling." The voice sounded oddly familiar, though Hermione would swear she had never heard it before, like a brook over mossy rocks. She turned around, and looked up. About seven giant portraits were facing her, all staring down at her, including one particularly old biddy, staring down her nose, through spectacles and a pair of opera glasses.

"Erm," Hermione eloquently said.

The woman sniffed at Hermione and turned her gaze to the bookshelves behind the eighth year Gryffindor. She was the only Gryffindor from her year who had decided to come back. With a sigh, Hermione eyed the occupants of the other six portraits. Two were animals, a greyhound and a unicorn, so she ruled them out as her suddenly shy caller. Of the remaining four, three were male, and the voice had had that distinctly sexual male quality to it. Considering that one of these males was all of four months old and giggling away at her, rolling about in his rather uncomfortable-looking sheets, she figured she could rule him out as both sex and speech seemed beyond him at his current state. Sidetracked for a moment, she wondered how this portrait had ended up in a school at all. It's not as though an infant could have made any considerable donation to the castle.

A sigh drew her eyes from the admittedly adorable blonde boy who was currently blowing spit bubbles over to the remaining two portraits. Hermione let out a small gasp as she looked more closely at the two portraits. "But," she said aloud, "You can't have two portraits in the same place, can you? I mean, why would you even want to, wouldn't it be dull?" Her brown eyes flickered between the two identical portraits.

The one on her left chuckled. "Well, you can have two portraits, but it would be rather dull to put them side by side in some forgotten library corner."

"Although," interrupted the one on her right, "we do have the best seats for watching the Stacks. That pair from Ravenclaw last week were quite vigorous."

"Really!" Hermione reprimanded the matching pair. "You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves! Playing voyeur to underage students, really! Now, answer my question. Who are you?"

"Who are we? Daft witch."

"Oh shut it, Fab. My dear miss Granger, we are practically family. I am Gideon Prewett, and this ungrateful lump of oil, is my twin Fabian. Molly is our darling sister."

* * *

E/N: Yes, I know it's short. So, what do you think?


End file.
